Untitled Ravenclaw Story

(c)2005 by Josh Cohen. May not be reprinted except for personal use. JK Rowling owns the Potterverse; I\'m just playing around in it for a bit.

**************************************************

YEAR THREE: QUIDDITCH 1

Contains exciting scenes of Quidditch, and some more mild F/F BDSM and Lime.

I’d like to say that Christmas Break was interesting, but I’d be lying. I spent most of it at the Weasleys’ with Charlie – who was home for Christmas this year – practicing Quidditch moves. Although Charlie had been a Seeker, he’d played enough Quidditch with his brothers to have more than a passing familiarity with all the positions.

I was surprising myself each day with how well I handled the Quaffle while riding my broom. Charlie seemed fairly impressed as well. Eventually we managed to get together enough people to play a full six-person scrimmage – Charlie as the Seeker, Fred and George – naturally – as Beaters, and Mr. Weasley, of all people, as the Keeper. Ginny, Luna, and I did the Chasing, although Luna seemed more interested in seeing how close she could get to the training Bludgers – made of a material that reminded me of what muggles called “NERF” – without them hitting her than actually handling the Quaffle.

Afterward, over hot chocolate in the Weasleys’ living room, Mr. Weasley admitted that he’d played Keeper for two years at Hogwarts. “You never mentioned it to us, Dad!” Fred – or possibly George – complained.

“And with good reason,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Do you think I wanted all of my boys – and you too, Ginny – to be flitting around like madmen, chasing after balls?” I saw Ginny hide a titter behind her hand. “No I did not! Your father was a decent Keeper, as I remember, but after he got injured in Fifth Year he gave it up.”

“I gave it up,” Mr. Weasley repeated without feeling.

“He gave it up,” his wife said. “And we haven’t thought about it since then.”

After we finished our chocolate, Luna and I walked back across the street to her house, where I walked her to her door. Her eyes looked up at me – and up; Luna was only about five feet tall, and I was now closer to five-eleven – and gave me a knowing wink before she pulled open her front door and disappeared inside her house.

I walked home slowly, oblivious to the icy wind blowing down from the hills. Was it possible that Luna knew about the pocketwatches?

Over dinner, the night before I was to return to school, still keeping that thought in the back of my mind, I asked Da if he remembered Mr. Weasley’s Keeping at Hogwarts. “That I do,” he confirmed. “Arthur wasn’t bad at it, although there have been better. I do remember he kept out the vital goal the last year he played – his last game was against Ravenclaw – but then one of our Beaters mis-aimed a Bludger and nearly took his head off. Of course, our Seeker managed to beat James Potter for the Snitch, but that was only in Potter’s first year Seeking. We never beat him again.”

So Mr. Weasley had played, and played decently. No wonder all of his sons – and Ginny, to an extent – were into the game.

“What would you guys say,” I asked slowly, “if I said I was going to try out for the team?”

Mum blanched, but Da seemed unfazed. “I’m surprised you didn’t try out last year as well. You’re quite good on a broom.”

“You think so?” I turned to my mother. “Mum? What d’you think?”

She shook her head slightly, not in a negative response, but as if she was trying to clear it. “What?”

“Quidditch? Me?”

“Oh. Oh, that would be fine, I think.” The color was still gone from her face, though. “So long as you stay out of the way of Bludgers.”

“I’ll do my best, Mum.”

Tryouts went quite well, I thought. Several third-, fourth-, and fifth-years tried out on the Pitch that evening, but Roger had seemed fairly set on picking me anyway. On Wednesday night, I met with the full team for the first time.

Roger was the Captain and one of the other Chasers, of course. And I already knew Cho, now in Fourth Year, who played at Seeker. There were also two Beaters, both in Sixth Year – and while one of them was Stephen’s older brother, Albert, who I’d never really talked to, the other was Fiona Fyreton herself, the wielder of the paddle that had touched Penelope last year.

Figured.

The other chaser besides me was Karen DeMarco, and the Keeper was Faust Fyreton, Fiona’s younger brother, also in Fourth Year.

“All right,” Roger said, “you all know the plays, except for Goldman here. So Albert and Fiona, don’t hit the Bludgers at him until next week. We need to make sure he knows what he’s gotten himself into.”

It seemed like everything Roger said had some sort of undertone to it now that I knew about the pocketwatches.

“Let’s get out there. Karen, Faust, and I will work with David. Chang, you go with Albert and Fiona and avoid the training Bludgers for a while. Then do some Seeker exercises.”

As we walked out onto the pitch, Fiona fired off a Lumos Dispersa toward the spotlight over the Ravenclaw stands. It lit all four of the lighting towers, bathing the pitch in a bright white glow. The sun was still sending rays over the horizon, but not all that many.

“Mount your brooms,” Roger said, and we all did so. I followed Roger, Karen, and Faust over to the end of the field, near the goals; Cho and the Beaters went toward the other end. “Now,” Roger instructed as Faust took up a position ahead of the center goal, “we’re going to work on passing drills. At random, I want each of us to try and score a goal. Don’t tell Faust when we’re going in, just do it. If it looks like he’s going to get a good block on you, pass the Quaffle to someone else. Got it?”

It sounded simple enough.

Sounded.

But while I was fine at passing and catching the Quaffle, I was miserable at scoring. I either overshot or undershot the goal hoops, and the shots I did aim properly, Faust deflected easily. The only time I scored was on assists – either tossing the Quaffle to Karen or Roger, or having it tossed to me in a feint.

After about half an hour, Roger grabbed the Quaffle – Karen had passed it to him – and held up a hand. “All right,” he said, “I can see where you need the most work.” He tossed me the Quaffle. “Faust, give him an open path to the goal. Goldman, go back about thirty feet and try to score.”

“Thirty feet?”

“You heard me,” he said. I shrugged with my left arm – the right was holding the Quaffle, and I was balanced easily on the broom – and backed up. Faust moved out of the way and I flung the ball at the uppermost hoop.

Straight through it.

“Well, then,” Roger called as Karen grabbed up the Quaffle and tossed it to him, “you have an outside shot after all. This could get interesting.”

We practiced every evening at eight on the main pitch. There was a training pitch back near Hagrid’s hut, and the Slytherins were sent there to work, owing to the need for Ravenclaw to train their newest Chaser. It was also helpful in that they didn’t get a chance to see us working out our new strategies. Although I did see Gryffindor’s captain – Wood, I believe – trying to spy on us one night.

Between Quidditch and classes, I had just about forgotten the very existence of the pocketwatch. I had barely enough time to get any sleep, what with studying for all of my subjects, finishing homework and projects on time, and memorizing as much of the Ravenclaw playbook as I could. And I was nursing various injuries from being sideswiped by Bludgers and by my own teammates – Faust, who was particularly burly for his age, very nearly knocked me off my broom.

“Get used to it, Goldman,” Karen DeMarco shouted as I worked to right myself. “The Slytherins won’t be nearly as nice as we are!”

So I got used to it. I had no choice.

Saturday – Game Day – was here faster than I could have ever expected it. I had arrows and symbols buzzing around in my head as I slowly made my way through two bagels and a hard-boiled egg. But soon enough it was time to go down to the Ravenclaw lockerroom and pull on the dark-blue robes of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. I was nervous, no doubt about it, but I was slightly buoyed by the sight of “Goldman” above the number nine, crimson with white piping, on the back of the robe.

We huddled up for one last bit of strategy. “Listen,” Roger said. “We’re going to play this just as if we were playing with Brian here. Fiona, Albert, keep the Bludgers away from Cho and David. Karen and I will try to do most of the scoring. David, if you get an open outside shot, take it; otherwise, pass to one of us. Faust, I think you know what to do.”

We all nodded.

“All right, then.” He put his hand into the center of the huddle; we all followed suit. “Let’s go Ravenclaw!”

There was a cheer. I even joined in.

And then the game was on.

I had never seen a Quidditch game at Hogwarts go on this long. We had been on our brooms for almost an hour; I could swear a blister was growing behind my left leg, where I leaned most of my weight. The score was 530 to 400 – we were ahead – but neither Cho nor Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker, had been able to catch the Snitch. It had been a near thing with Malfoy at one point, but in desperation I had flung the Quaffle at him just before he caught it. We got a penalty – Faust blocked Marcus Flint’s shot – but Roger assured me it was better to risk ten than risk the game.

I was following my instructions to the letter – take the outside shot, pass otherwise. So far I had ten assists and forty points to my name. I also had noticed that whenever I started lining up an outside shot, one of the Beaters – usually Albert – would distract Warrington, the Slytherin Keeper, just enough for me to get an open road to the goal.

There was a roar from the crowd, and I looked over toward Cho, who was in pursuit of the Snitch, low to her broom. Malfoy was gaining on her.

Pucey, one of the Slytherin Chasers, attempted to pass the Quaffle to Flint, but Karen swooped in at the last moment and stole it away, then flung it to me. Roger swung around and caught up to me easily, and I tossed the Quaffle to him. I heard Karen call out a play behind me, and I ducked, knowing that Roger would throw the Quaffle right where I was flying. Karen caught it – I heard a grunt that was undoubtedly hers – and she made for the goals. Roger circled around behind the hoops – only a shot through the front of the goals would count anyway – and Karen tossed the Quaffle back to me. I flung it as hard as I could to Roger, who threw it through the upper goal. Karen caught it and shot a goal through the lowest post.

There were cheers. 540-400.

Flint took the Quaffle and, in a move that none of us expected at his size, dove for the pitch, Roger and Karen in pursuit. I flipped around and shot forward, trying to decide where the ball would go – to Higgs or to Pucey. A bludger flew past my head, and I saw Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters, wave.

Instinct alone made me drop as Derrick, the other Beater, hit the ball back to him by way of me.

“Goldman!” shouted Fiona. “Chase!” She sent a Bludger in Flint’s direction and he wheeled around, right into Fiona. She held onto her broom through a supreme act of will – spinning like a top – but managed to knock the ball from Flint’s hands. I caught it and pulled a barrel roll, leveling out, heading straight for the hoops.

I heard more cheers, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cho and Malfoy, neck and neck, the Snitch just ahead of them. Karen was below me; I dropped the Quaffle to her and scooted over, trying to bump Malfoy. He stretched out and stiff-armed me away, and I spun down and to the side, around Roger, who called “Strike 58! Strike 58!”

Oh, hell no.

But I had no time to argue Karen passed me the Quaffle; I tossed it to Roger, who sent it back my way. I bore down on the goal hoops, watching Warrington as he tried to predict my movements. I drew my arm back to throw—

—and dropped the Quaffle right into Roger’s hands.

He took his shot.

We all watched it. His aim was perfect. Warrington had no chance.

The whistle blew.

The Quaffle flew through the goal hoop.

And a chorus of boos greeted it.

Roger, Karen, and I wheeled around on our brooms, trying to figure out what had happened, but from the expression on Malfoy’s face, it was obvious.

He’d beaten Cho to the Snitch. An instant before Roger’s goal had gone through, he’d caught it.

Slytherin victory, 550 to 540.

Cho was disconsolate. She had her face in her gloves, sitting on one of the benches in the lockerroom. Karen had her arm around her, and kept telling her it was all right, that she’d done her best. Even Roger had admitted that it was only luck that the Snitch had skipped sideways, right into Malfoy’s outstretched hand.

I, on the other hand, had pulled off the heavy Quidditch robe as soon as I could and was sitting on another bench, taking liberal pulls from a large bottle of ice water, still wearing the light flak-jacket style of armor around my chest and the pads on my wrists. My left glove was on, but the right one was on the floor, next to the bristles of my broom, which was leaning against my leg.

“So,” Faust said, plunking down next to me as he tugged off his gauntlets, “what’d you think?”

I was still catching my breath, but I managed to choke out, “better… than… expected…”

“You’re a fan now, all right.”

“You… bet… your… ass…”

It had been the hardest hour-and-change of my life. And the most exciting.

Maybe the Weasleys were right. Maybe the rest of the school was right. Quidditch was more than just a game.

It was an experience.

On Sunday night, Roger held an informal meeting in Professor Flitwick’s classroom – the Professor had given him a key to use it for strategy sessions on the weekends. “So here’s the deal. We crushed Hufflepuff, and we only barely lost to Slytherin. Gryffindor’s lost their only game so far, Hufflepuff and we are one and one, and Slytherin’s on top with no losses. But we’re still in this thing.”

“He’s right,” Karen added. She was the first officer to Roger’s captaincy. “We have to beat Gryffindor, first and foremost. And we can count on them beating Slytherin with Potter in there. Slytherin’s just not good enough to take them out, and they haven’t been since my third year.” That would be the year before I started at Hogwarts. “Let’s just concentrate on beating Gryffindor next month, and go from there.”

“I have some Gryffindor-specific plays I want everyone to study,” Roger said. “We’ll take Monday off and start practice again on Tuesday.” He breathed deeply. “Good game, everyone. It was just luck that we didn’t win.”

We all left the classroom, Roger and Cho last. She was still pretty upset, and I heard them talking in low tones from behind me.

“You did well out there,” Fiona said to me.

“Thank you.” She was shorter than I was by maybe six inches, but she had enough force of personality behind her mousy appearance, a force of personality I hadn’t noticed until I joined the team, that I was sure disappointing her would be a terrible idea.

“Robert was right to choose you for the test.”

“What test?” I still hadn’t quite figured it all out, but I had some guesses.

But Fiona just smiled slyly and, as if it were a cloak she was taking off, I felt her absorb all that personality back into herself until she was just plain old Fiona Fyreton. Then she increased her pace to catch up with her brother, leaving me confused.

That night, for the first time since I’d come back to Hogwarts, I was able to look at the pocketwatch. I was still dog-tired from the game, and my mind was working overtime, trying to get a handle on the new plays I had to learn, but I had a feeling I should watch.

I was right.

It was in the sixth-year dorms that I found Fiona this time. She was still in her mousy, submissive persona – I could tell, even without being present in the same room as her – as she lay across Penelope’s lap for her turn under the Head Girl’s hand.

But instead of playing the game that all the other girls played – the “oh, I’ve been so bad, please make me behave” litany I’d heard more than a few times – Fiona simply punctuated each smack with an “ooh” or an “ah”. Her pale blue eyes were looking straight into what I had long since figured out was a concealed transmission mirror, and I could feel her gaze as if she was looking directly at me, despite how many others might be watching.

After the “punishment” was finished, Fiona took Pen right there, in that very bed – I had no idea whose bed it was, and I don’t think either of them cared – while still keeping her eyes on the mirror. She cradled Pen in her arms afterward, caressing her gently, and when Pen finally dozed off, Fiona blew a kiss to the mirror, and for just an instant, I saw the other Fiona. The one from the pitch.

The one who I fantasized about in the loo not more than two minutes later.

The next day, at breakfast, Fiona gave me a look that melted my insides.

There was something about that girl that hit every single button that, at the time, I thought I had.

Of course, now I know why. But I’ll get to that later.

*********************************

As I said, David wasn\'t all that interested in Quidditch. But that was before; he\'d never actually played in a real game. Once you\'re in the thick of things, it all changes for you. Trust me on this. (Not on Quidditch, but on other sports I\'ve played.)

I\'m bringing Fiona on as a semi-main character because she interests me. Don\'t worry; I haven\'t forgotten about Terry and Padma. They\'ll be back soon.

One last thing -- I\'m now using HP-Lexicon\'s calendar exclusively. According to them, the Slytherin v Ravenclaw match was 1/15, and the Gryffindor v Ravenclaw match was 2/5. Seems a little close to me, but I\'m going with it because I have to pick something as a standard.